


The Whole "Being Good" Thing.

by Answering_questions_nobody_asked



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Early 2000s Technology, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, You heard me, mild abliest language, rivals to friends to found family actually, thats a warning all its own
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21912376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Answering_questions_nobody_asked/pseuds/Answering_questions_nobody_asked
Summary: Saint Rockwell's School And Home For Boys. Highly regarded, respected, and priced higher than any private school imaginable. This school specializes in behavioral counseling and creating an environment conducive to the growth and safety of each individual student... And Jack Spicer is absolutely NOT going to be one of those students. Running away from home instead feels a little like a right of passage, just a really horrible right of passage when you've got nowhere to go. It's hard to say whether or not any of his interpersonal relationships are salvageable at this point, but to do that he's really gotta figure out this whole "being good" thing.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	1. Saint Rockwells? More Like Sit On A Rock And Think About Your Life Choices.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emo teen runs away from home lol

“So what you’re saying is you’re mad about the house-” Jack held up his hands and gave his best attempt at an understanding nod. “Y’know I get it, I do, but come on, we’ve fixed it before, we can fix it again, it’s not that big a deal and-”

“This isn’t about the house Jack.” The boy’s father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is about your behavior, now your interest in robotics was all well and good, but this little game of yours has got to stop.” 

“What game?” Jack cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out where his father was going with all of this, but before he could do so his mother joined in.

“This conquest silliness sweetheart, whatever it is that you do when you're running around with your little friends, things get broken, and do you know who has to pay for it all?”

“Yeah! Me!” He crossed his arms defensively, eyes locking on his mother’s in defiance. 

“We do Jack.” She continued, her voice nothing but exasperated, “Financially and socially. People talk about these things you know.”

“They SHOULD talk!” Jack threw his arms up, raising his voice, “EVERYONE should talk because EVERYONE should know, I’m gonna rule the WHOLE world and maybe they should all see it coming! Someday I’m-

“That’s enough.” His father brought a fist down on the table between them, not hard, but firmly enough to demand recognition, “Enough games, enough delusions of grandeur, enough cavorting about with those friends of yours and making a mess of things! How do you think that makes your mother and I look? Think of what we have to uphold- this decision wasn’t easy for us to make, it certainly won’t be a fun conversation, but your track record hasn’t left us with any other choice.”

“What your father is trying to say-” His mother interjected, laying a gentle hand on her husband’s arm, “-Is that this is what’s going to be best for _you_.”

“WHAT’S going to be best for me!?” His voice wavered, but he stood his ground, crossing his arms tightly in defense, “Boarding school? A curfew? An allowance cut? A SHRINK!? How is ANY of that what’s best for ME!?” 

“One of these days Jack,” His father’s voice grew colder as he spoke, “You’re going to hurt yourself- or someone else. We don’t plan on cleaning up the mess, especially when it’s easier to prevent it in the first place. Now, this has gone on long enough, you’re almost an adult and here you are still acting like a petulant child.” 

“I am NOT!” Jack’s voice cracked, his hands balling up into fists. “I’m not a little kid, and I don’t need some overblown daycare taking all my toys away!- SUPPLIES!” he was quick to correct himself, “SUPPLIES AND ROBOTS AND WEAPONS AND PLANS TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!” He didn’t even realize he was standing until he heard his chair fall to the floor behind him, knocked over by the force of how fast he’d jumped to his feet. Too fast, he placed a hand on the table to steady himself as the floating spots settled back into the corners of his vision.  
“Look just-” he hesitated a moment, chewing at the inside of his cheek and trying to think of anything else he could say to _talk his way out of this he’d done it plenty of times right?_ “I’ll keep the collateral damage to a minimum ok? Maybe set up some decent security so those Xiaolin losers will stop trying to bring the fight into my house all the time…” Both of his parents looked unconvinced. “Er- Our house…” His father still wore a skeptical grimace. “Yyyyour… house?” He tried again, this time with what he hoped was a placating smile. It looked more like an unfortunate bout of indigestion. “Just one more chance, ok?”

There was a loaded moment of silence while his parents looked at each other, then back to him. Every second that passed made it that much harder to breathe. He wanted to sit back down but that would mean picking the chair up off the floor and that would mean turning away and that would mean _giving up just like he always did_ but he couldn’t give up on _this._

“Jackie,” Finally- _finally_ his mother spoke, and it was that tone, that beautiful tone of “let’s go out for dinner tonight, wherever you want.” and “let’s look at homeschooling options together ok?” that wonderful, perfect, lifesaving tone of voice that meant things would be ok! And then she finished talking.

“We don’t want this to happen the hard way, but we know Saint Rockwells can help you more than we can. Just give it a try alright? Come out to the car with us and you won’t have to deal with any of the drama that comes with their escorts. Please sweetheart, for me, just try?”

Jack couldn’t hear her last statement, from the moment she’d said “their escorts” he’d been caught between screaming and throwing up. Escorts? Saint Rockwell Escorts? He wasn’t an _idiot_ , thank you, he knew perfectly well that that just meant “cops with more child-friendly uniforms and a paycheck from a private institution instead of the government” and no, no thank you, he would not be dealing with them today or any other day or ever. That settled that then, according to his folks his options were “get in our car and go” or “get in our car and go” which, of course, made the choice an obvious one.

He’d taken off for the back door before either of his parents could so much as stand up. 

He had to move fast, for all he knew the house could be surrounded, and from this side of the first floor he couldn’t possibly make it downstairs to pick up any heavy equipment for the road. He had to get out and get out fast. He had to think. _Think._ He managed to do enough thinking to grab his shoes and his heli-pack before letting the door slam shut behind him and running for it. Any other thinking could come later, what mattered now was _not_ getting dragged off to a stiff grey prison-school to get sedatived and therapized and other equally horrible things that they did to other crazy teenagers. No not _other_ crazy teenagers, just crazy teenagers, one of which he was not. Not at all, if anything he was _gifted_ damnit! Why was everyone too stupid to see that? Jack Spicer was _clearly_ the smartest mind of his generation and-

“OW- OWWWOWOWSSshit thathurtsalot!” -and he had just tripped over a large rock and narrowly managed to avoid landing directly on his face.

Ok. Time to stop geniusing and running at the same time. Or at least time to put on shoes. After sitting himself down on the offending rock that had just attacked him entirely unprovoked, Jack finally managed to take in his surroundings. He was somewhere in the forest surrounding his home, but too far in to identify where, maybe far enough to be over the property line, though that was doubtful. No one seemed to be chasing him on foot, which was good, he wouldn’t be running again any time soon if his dying lungs and sore legs had anything to say about it. He pulled on his shoes and sucked in a few more deep breaths before standing back up and strapping his heli-pack around his chest a little too tightly- just to keep his heart from beating out of his chest and his lungs from cracking apart his ribcage. 

Flying would beat running as a means of transportation anyway, he let his body go slack into the harness as it lifted him off the ground, he’d just need to stay low enough that they wouldn’t be able to spot him over the treeline for awhile. This was just another bump in the road. A big bump. Maybe a hurdle- if cars could jump hurdles- No that wasn’t a thing most cars could do. Could his car do that? Did it still count as a car? Car seemed a little demeaning as a term for it actually… This important logistics question stopped being important as he nearly smashed directly into a tree. Right. Focusing. 

He needed to go somewhere, food water and shelter were things human beings needed in order to survive. Some form of mental stimulation was also most likely a crucial part of not dying, pens or tools or music at least and oh son of a bitch his mp3 player was sitting on his _desk_ in his _room_ in his _house_ and this was probably up there in the top 5 worst days of his life. 

Priorities. Survival. Food water shelter and something- _anything-_ to do. Jack could think of two separate places that could meet those criteria, and considering one of them was far too unnervingly scary to even think about setting foot in for the time being, groveling for forgiveness at the gaping mouth of Chase’s citadel looked like his best option.


	2. oh sweety,, if only there were someone who loved you : (

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jeez lady you know a guy 3 and a half years and the most you can do is stop him from dying :/

Said opening stretching over him was almost enough to make Jack reconsider. Almost. The dark shadows cast by the stalactites always looked a little too much like teeth for his personal comfort, but maybe it was just hitting harder because he hadn’t been here in so long. Maybe it was also the memory of just how many large cats who also happened to have large teeth lived inside. Or maybe it was because the structure was clearly sculpted to look like a giant mouth, that was probably the strongest factor. That didn’t mean he had to like it. Jack shuddered. It’d be fine. There was no memorable reason for Chase to be mad at him right now, everything would be just fine.

“Uh- ChAse?” Jack’s voice cracked hard as he called out, good, great start, perfect. “Aaaanybody home?” Silence. Maybe nobody _was_ home. That was as much a relief as it was a problem, he couldn’t exactly go home and come back later. Jack took a tentative step forward. Ok, plan B. It wasn’t like he _couldn’t_ break in, he could break into anywhere that was break-into-able. Which was everywhere. Because he could break into it. He was not lying to himself _or_ stalling for time, there was no war in-

-The low crunch of rock sliding against rock was startling enough to send him reeling back, throwing his hands up in front of his face, it’d been a long enough day without adding “had face eaten” to the list of highlights. After a brief moment of not having his face eaten, Jack slowly risked opening his eyes. He was greeted with the sight of an opening in the rockface that had done him the favor of _not_ falling directly on top of him. That was a mistake you only made once or possibly four times before learning not to stand too close. Very quickly, he decided not to look a gift-sculpted-giant-tiger-head in the mouth and jumped to his feet, scampering inside before the massive and heavy door had the chance to change its mind about being open. 

“What do you _want_ Spicer? And if you’re going to say “company” you can go ahead and show yourself out in the next three seconds.” Chases voice coming from behind him instead of above him was entirely unexpected, and therefore the most logical reaction to it was to trip over the stairs and scramble around into an awkward sitting position to look at him. He did not look impressed, but that was more or less a permanent feature of his face. This was as hurtful as it was attractive. Oh, right, he was supposed to be groveling right now.

“Um, hhhhey buddy… how’s it goin? You look great, did you get your hair cut longer?”  
“Three.” Oh, he was really actually going to count down the three seconds, alright, time to get to the point.  
“I was actually wondering about, y’know, doing the whole evil-team-up thing again, that was fun! Right? Yeah! You- you could talk to Wuya about it! You two are still working together, right? She’ll tell you herself how I’m the best evil partner ever!”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Jack. It’s rude.” This time the voice _did_ come from the top of the oversized stairway, but hearing her speak up didn’t startle him any less. He didn’t even hear her coming, why couldn’t she just wear _shoes_ didn’t the rocks _hurt_?? “I’m past the point of vouching for you and you know it.” oh and she was still talking. Wuya descended the stairs, stopping just a few steps above where he sat, and looked down at him with an unreadable expression. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Chase didn’t give her the chance.

“Just get the unpleasantries out of the way Spicer, what is it that you _want_ and what is it that you have to offer?”  
Jack swallowed hard, clearing his throat and trying his hardest to force words out of it.  
“I… needaplacetostay.” He started, running his words together much too quickly. “I can’t go home for supplies or bots but I-I could still make more! Yeah! Or uh- a security system! Not that the tigers aren’t great! They’re great! Isn’t that what they say about tigers?” He forced out a nervous laugh, his hand gripping at the back of his neck so tightly it hurt. “Really though, I’ll do anything you need me for!” He paused for a moment, looking back at Wuya and grabbing at the bottom of her dress like it was a lifeline. “Don’t make me go home?” 

His attention was jerked back to Chase when the warlord made a sound that landed somewhere between being a laugh and being a snarl. “So let me see if I’m understanding you correctly. You’ve somehow managed to bring _less_ to the table than usual, you have no plans to access what meager resources you _do_ normally keep at your disposal, and despite your longstanding history of betraying everyone you’ve ever worked with, you expect me to _shelter you in my home_ **_on the off chance you might someday prove yourself useful?”_ ** With every word, he sounded less amused and more angry, leaning over Jack with an intimidating glare.  
“Yeah,” Jack shrugged, “that sounds about right, but when you put it that way it seems a little like a “maybe”, how about we bring that to a “yes”- or! Even just a “probably”!” He added, noting the warriors circling closer to where they were gathered. “Tell you what, let’s just put a pin in this, you think about it, and I stay here _temporarily_ while you do! It’s a win-win right?”

Chase looked from him to Wuya, and then back. Then, finally, he addressed his warriors. “I don’t have time for this anymore, get him out of my sight.” Alright, in all fairness Jack had been ready to deal with the possibility of Chase kicking him out. “Feel free to eat him once you’re outside, I think we’ve wasted enough time on politeness.” the warlord added as one of the tigers snapped its powerful jaws down on Jacks sleeve, ripping him out of his firmly locked grip on Wuya’s skirt and dragging him back towards the mouth of the citadel. Wait a minute, getting eaten usually meant dying, and being dead was _not_ a possibility he was ready to deal with! Unfortunately, no amount of calling out “stop!” or “wait!” or “I’m too young to be cat food!” seemed to make a difference, after two and a half years of putting up with him, Chase Young had finally had enough. 

Had either of them paid more attention, they would’ve noticed Wuya slipping out after the cats and their screaming human lunch buffet, or maybe they wouldn’t’ve noticed her either way. These were simply the benefits of never wearing shoes.

This was it. He was definitely going to die. Not only that but he was going to die while being used as an oversized cat toy. That was up there on the list of worst ways to die. Usually, the warriors were terrifying and mildly painful, but the moment they dragged him outside and one clamped down on his leg for real Jack nearly blacked out. That would be bleeding and he would have to deal with cleaning it later except he wouldn’t because he’d be dead.  
A sharp whistle and the pain stopped. Well, no it didn’t, his leg was still in a significant amount of pain, but it wasn’t progressively getting worse. Had Chase changed his mind that fast? Probably not. Did Jack want to open his eyes and risk seeing how badly they’d managed to mangle him in order to find out? Even more probably not.

“Jack, get off the ground.” Now that was a voice he could open his eyes to.  
“Wuya!” Within seconds he’d latched himself back onto her skirt, wrapping himself around her shins in case of any more oncoming carnivores. “Thank you! I _knew_ you wouldn’t kill me!” He looked up at her, if she was here then that probably meant; “You DO want to team up with me again I KNEW it!”  
“Jack,” She started, but didn’t get the chance to finish.  
“The _original_ evil dream team! Back in action baby! It’s harder than that to take _us_ down!”  
“ _Jack-”_ _  
_“Lemme guess, Chase “Only I Can Have Big Strong Powers And Shiny Hair” Young is still keeping you from using magic? What’s the plan? I’m on board already-”  
“ _JACK!”_ Wuya glared down at him, arms crossed and fingers tapping against her arm impatiently.  
“Ok, ok no need to yell.”  
“I didn’t come out here to make the mistake of partnering with you again. I came out here to tell you to _go home._ ”

Oh… _oh._ “I can’t,” he paused, clearing his throat, this wasn’t a good time for his voice to start shaking, he still didn’t let go of her legs. “I mean… don’t you _want_ your powers back? Don’t you want to rule the world again! But… with me this time? Right?”  
She heaved a frustrated sigh, and easily stepped out of what he thought was an iron grip. Then she took a step back and bent down slightly, closer to where he knelt on the ground with his arms still outstretched and grabbing at the air. And then she looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in a long while. She looked tired, and if he didn’t know better he would almost say sad. This wasn’t like her, and that was unnerving enough to shut him up.

“Of _course_ I want power again, but let’s face the facts here, I’ve got a better shot of getting it with Chase than I ever had with you, even if he _is_ just plain difficult. You had a good run Jack, but the farthest you ever got me was out of a box.”  
“But- but I- I thought we _had_ something.” Jack felt his lip quiver, no, no this was absolutely _not_ the time to cry. “...Why let me go then?” He managed, swallowing the painful lump in his throat.  
Wuya’s frown only deepened, her eyes shifting to the ground. “Because you’re right.” She looked back at him and finally stood up straight, “You’re a whiny, clingy, rich little brat most of the time you know,” that was a terrible explanation and also not very nice, “but,” she continued, that look of almost-sadness creeping back onto her face, “That doesn’t mean I don’t ca-” She cut off, glaring at the ground again, “ _Pity_ you. At least a little.” She shook her head, as if trying to push off something she didn’t want to think about. “Run home Jack, I’m sure your _mommy_ is waiting.” She turned, walking back through the opening into the citadel, but just before the rocks slammed together behind her, she called back over her shoulder; “Don’t come back unless you have something to offer, I don’t know how many times these overgrown furballs will listen to me.”

For a moment, Jack only stared at the closed wall of rock, waiting for it to open again. It didn’t, and something told him breaking in now would mean a lot more than another bite on the leg. Which, for the record, _still really hurt!_ He looked down, and that was a mistake because there was _blood_ and that belonged _inside_ his body and he felt sick looking at where _teeth_ had been _in his skin_ that was very bad to look at. Still, the rest of the situation was worse. If he couldn’t stay here that meant he’d have to resort to plan B, and he really, _really,_ **_really_** didn’t like plan B.


	3. Perhaps I should not believe this, you lie frequently.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when all else fails go for the ego

Hmmm, should he knock? Would that be the right way to go here? He could just show up maybe but knocking seemed more like what a "good" person would do. But knocking also meant they could turn him away. He was already getting blood on the temple gate. The best bet was probably for Jack to fly in on his own before they realized he was here and beat the crap out of him. He was running out of crap to have beaten out. 

He just had to stop leaning on the wall, that was easier said than done considering how dizzy he felt. It wasn't a very deep bite but that didn't mean the pain wasn't nauseating, he should wrap it. How was he supposed to do that? He read about first aid once, not that  _ that  _ would be of much help. The monks probably knew first aid, that was the kind of thing good upstanding citizens knew, he just needed-

"JACK SPICER!!"

Not that. Jack did  _ not  _ need a small talking jawbreaker to break his jaw right now. 

“Why are you always down on our business?!” Omi continued, the sharp angry poke he gave to Jack’s side was enough to knock him off balance and land him on the ground, hands held up in predetermined surrender. 

“Wait  _ wait!! _ ” Jack said loudly and anxiously but he was definitely  _ not  _ screaming. “I’m not here to be down on your- uh. Up in your… I’m not here to take your wu!”

“Give me one reason why I should believe you,” Omi crossed his arms, still on guard but not moving to hit him, that was always a good sign.

“I-”

“Actually! That was a tricky question, there are  _ no  _ reasons that would make me believe you!” This was less of a good sign. Still, Jack wasn’t out of ideas just yet. He just had to make it seem like this was the right thing to do, noble and honorable and whatever, they were all about that shit, right?

“Please?” He’d bring himself up on his knees but trying to do so resulted in another stab of pain shooting through his injured leg, at least that helped with the- absolutely fake he’d die before admitting otherwise- tears he threw in to seal the deal garnering sympathy. “I can’t go home, I, uh…” Boarding school wasn’t enough of a reason, he’d have to embellish just a little, “I got kicked out! Abandoned! Tossed to the curb like yesterday’s garbage for a little over-spending!” Nearly four-hundred-thousand dollars worth, but what the saps here didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Or him, more importantly. 

“That sounds most disappointing, but tough turkeys! You have taken advantage of our kindness before, and we will not be boiled by you again!” Omi didn’t look impressed, damn, usually all it took was a little bit of pathetic desperation and the little cheeseball would roll right over with sympathy, but this time he was already moving to slam the gate in Jack’s face. Why did he have to start learning to question people’s motives  _ now _ ? That just wasn’t fair. Also, he  _ had  _ to be making this stuff up.   
“You’ve gotta be making this stuff up.” Not the best conclusion to lead with, but he could salvage this. “I mean… That you’re giving up so fast. That doesn’t sound like you y’know.”

Omi froze on the spot. He’d struck a nerve. Perfect. “Giving up? I never said anything about giving up! Who is giving up?” 

“No no, really, I get it… I come here, beaten, disowned, injured, hoping for just one more shot at turning over a new leaf, and I just expect you to be able to  _ handle  _ it.” Omi’s eye nearly twitched, he was taking the bait. Jack didn’t let up. “You’re right, I’m bad, some might even say the definition of evil itself-”

“Oh no, no one would say that-” 

“Ok, no need to be hurtful- I mean. Uh. Oh yeah right- Maybe I’m beyond help! I thought if  _ anyone  _ could do it it’d be you, but maybe there’s some challenges even  _ you  _ can’t handle…”

Omi pulled the gate back open so hard it nearly came off the hinges. “There is NOTHING I can not handle! Jack Spicer, you are going to change for the better, that leaf WILL be turned! You will spin that leaf until it gets dizzy and falls down by the time I am done with you! Of course I-” 

Hook line and sucker, he was in. Jack was nothing if not a master of reverse seismology... Wait that didn't sound right seismology was the one with rocks... Or earthquakes... Or both. That wasn't important! What was important was the fact that Omi was grabbing him by the hand and tugging him inside, and saying… something. He tuned back in; 

“-won’t make things easier on you just because you are injured, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have any time to recover, as a Xiaolin dragon in training, it would be most dishonorable for me not to assist the injured and pathetic.”

Nah, he could tune right back out while the little guy went on and on about how great and honorable it was to be a “decent person” and a “functioning productive member of society” Hard pass.

He took the opportunity to note any surrounding walls that looked particularly breakable- all of them- Or any he could climb over to make a quick escape if flight wasn’t an option- none of them. He kept tabs on every window, door, and possible exit as he was lead inside. Not much outside had changed since his last time raiding the temple, but it’d been much longer since he was able to casually walk through it. The sound of plates knocking together from down one hall had him flinching, hands thrown up to defend his face from the inevitable beatdown... that never came. Opening his eyes and lowering his hands he only saw Omi, who was shooting him a confused look. Jack shrugged the incident off and followed him through another door into a small bathroom. He didn’t need to worry, he reminded himself, sitting on the closed toilet lid as Omi rummaged through cabinets looking for something or other. The little Charlie-Brown wannabe had let him in, it’d go against his code or whatever to hurt him out of nowhere. 

If he’d been paying attention, he’d’ve heard the warning about the disinfectant Omi was about to spray on his open wound, but instead, it hurt him out of nowhere. 

“OW-OWOWIEWHYWOULD YOU DO THAT-”

Footsteps were fast-approaching the bathroom, and within seconds a full-house of monks were standing in the doorway, looking a lot more threatening than a bottle of disinfectant. Juuuust perfect.


	4. Teamwork Is Important So Everyone Has To Suffer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took so long but now I'm quarantined and so I gotta work on it.

“YOU DID WHAT!??” The question was unanimous, and loud. Omi didn't seem phased and Jack could only hope that was a good sign. For the time being he opted to position himself behind the small monk, so at least something could stand between him and the angry dragon warriors currently looking like they usually looked when they were about to kick his ass.

“Omi, what is the meaning of this?” Master Fung stepped forward- thank god, that old geezer had never kicked his ass- whether or not he had the capacity was unimportant. 

"Master Fung," Omi spoke with a respectful bow, but stood his ground all the same, "I am once again asking for the opportunity to turn Jack Spicer to the side of good."

Master Fung closed his eyes with a sigh and placed a hand on Omi's shoulder. "Young Monk, it has been said that to repeat a failed action in the exact same way and expect different results is the very definition of insanity."

"Yeah right!" Jack finally spoke up, any intimidation he'd felt shoved to the wayside for the time being, "What old windbag came up with _that_ dumb idea?"

"That was Einstein, Einstein," Kimiko crossed her arms and fixed Jack with a glare, "Why would we believe you anyway? Are we supposed to pretend stealing our shen gong wu _isn’t_ the only reason you’re here?” 

Before Jack could respond with the ingenious comeback of sticking his tongue out at her, Omi had taken another step forward and opened his arms to his friends. The gesture was probably supposed to be pleading but it had the effect of a human shield and that was good enough for Jack.

“My friends,” Omi began, “I understand your skepticism, and I know that you can not teach a new dog old tricks, but I also believe it is the duty of a Xiaolin monk never to give up on doing the right thing. I assure you that this time we will do the right thing in a smarter way.”

Bless him, bless his tiny body and giant head and beautiful soul, “Hell yeah, less chores!” Jack gave the air a celebratory fist pump before realizing that Omi had turned back around and was slowly shaking his head.  
“Oh no,” the young monk said with a self-assured smile, “You will still be doing many, _many_ chores, you will simply not be left alone with any shen gong wu nearby! We will be keeping you under the most strict of observations so that no matter how great the temptation to return to the side of evil is, you will not be able to!” 

Fuck. Jack deflated, somehow this was shaping up to be _worse_ than the last time he tried the whole “having morals” thing. Not that he really tried. Or that he planned on really trying this time. Absolutely not. Not him. Never. 

After a tense moment of silence, Master Fung gave a small, conceding nod. “Very well, Jack Spicer will be allowed to remain here at the temple, Kimiko, Raimundo, Clay, you will all help Omi to keep an eye on him.”

The collective groan rising from three out of four of his newly appointed oppressors was insulting, it was like they didn’t like him or something! Raimundo and Kimiko muttered frustrated profanity at a volume just loud enough for him to overhear, and while Clay didn’t speak a word out loud, the mind reader conch wasn’t necessary to know that he was thinking the same thing they were. Nevertheless, the old man kept talking.

“You are to watch him in shifts during chores, meals, training, and sleep-”

“I am NOT watching him sleep,” Kimiko cut in, nearly gagging at the thought, “That is _way_ too creepy.” Before Jack could respond by telling her she probably _wished_ she could, Omi held his hands up to the group.  
“No, my friends,” He said, attempting to placate the growing frustration of his fellow monks, “it was my decision to allow Jack Spicer a second chance to attempt to redeem himself, it should be my responsibility to keep an eye on him, rest assured I will watch him like a pigeon.”

No one had the chance to correct him before Master Fung cleared his throat,   
“Omi, I understand that you wish to prove your faith and ability to teach, but this is not a responsibility that can be taken on alone.”

“But-” Omi’s protest got about as far off the ground as his height as Master Fung continued.  
“Consider this a lesson in teamwork, young monks,” Then, after a short pause, he added, “And in patience. Much, _much_ patience.” 

“Great, so we all get to deal with getting robbed when this is over,” Raimundo scoffed, “Out of curiosity, is it my authority as a leader to nix this whole idea?”

“If, as a leader, you wish to take on the chores that would have been assigned to your team’s potential apprentice.” Never in his life had Jack wanted to high five an old man so badly, and this included the older version of himself. The elation was short-lived, however, when he realized that at the end of the day it would still be him doing a metric shitload of housework. 

“You know what, actually, The whole “teamwork and patience” thing doesn’t sound all that bad.” Raimundo was quick to change his tune to one of forced enthusiasm, because the one plight he _could_ sympathize with was not wanting to do the aforementioned metric shitload of housework. Not that sympathy was the word he’d use, he knew from experience that the singular upside to having Jack around was the significantly lightened workload. 

And so a decision was made, with quite a bit of foot-dragging, grumbling, and general dissatisfaction from almost all sides, which is, of course, commonplace in decision making. Jack would stay at the temple, under near constant supervision. Apparently, saying “There’s no way you’re following me into the bathroom!” was a mistake, as Omi was quick to unhelpfully reassure him that he would simply “Stand dutifully outside the door until you are finished, and make you answer questions every few seconds to make sure you are not planning an escape!” 

Jack was very quickly beginning to wonder if boarding school would’ve been not so bad actually.


	5. The most hardest thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stop saying being good is easy! It is NOT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New year, new name. It has been so long I am so sorry, I genuinely LOVE working on this fic and will never fully abandon it, in case anyone out there enjoys it enough to worry about that. 2020 really just. 2020ed all over me. I lived bitch, let's go.

At two days in, which was six hours longer than his last attempt at being "good," Jack decided that no, boarding school would've been a hell of a lot more better than this. Every muscle in his body was on fire, and also made of jello, but instead of the fire evaporating the water in the jello the jello just stayed on fire. Yesterday had him making breakfast, cleaning up after breakfast, doing the laundry- which for some reason still seemed like a task they only did once a year. What kind of people lived in a temple this big and couldn't splurge on a washing machine?- cleaning at least 7 hallways, doing the dishes after dinner, and for some inexplicable reason, replacing shingles on the roof until 10pm. 

He never thought he'd say this, but it was a stroke of pure luck that it was Omi's turn to take the night shift watching him, his first night Clay's solution had been to hogtie him on his floor mat because he "reckoned that way they could both get some shut-eye." He never wanted to think about that sequence of events again for the rest of his life or after it.

This morning, right on cue at 6am, he'd been ruthlessly Tornami'd into the waking world. 

At least they were smart enough to spare him from the task of making breakfast this morning, maybe brutally burning as much food as possible on purpose had gotten him off that hook for a while. 

Why? Why had he expected things to be any better this time around? Why did he think that, when Omi handed him a folded up pile of dorky pajamas that actually fit, it meant maybe he could do this? Why did he  _ ever  _ think he could do this? 

The monotony was going to kill him, or at least turn him into a brain dead vegetable- and he didn't even LIKE vegetables! He'd made the mistake of trying, really trying, more than 12 hours of effort trying, which was way too much trying for way too little payoff if you asked him. Not that anyone asked him. Hell, he'd planned to build these people a dishwasher, an  _ entire dishwasher _ ! With  _ minimal  _ guns inside of it! An idealistic olive branch to extend to them because clearly they couldn't afford to buy one, or were just afraid of modern technology considering the majority of the population within the grounds of the temple fell into the age range of "really old" to "how are you still alive old". 

But no. NoOoOoO. "You can't draw up blueprints for things Jack!" "You can't build a dishwasher because we don't trust you not to make it come alive and rob blind in our sleep Jack!" "We know you're just trying to get out of doing work you hate by getting the same results from doing work you actually enjoy Jack!" Unbearable. WHERE was gratitude on the list of core moral values of being a good person? Shouldn't it have been on that list? He'd never actually read the list but it seemed like gratitude _ should _ have been on there.

But none of his ideas for technical improvements were given so much as a second glance. Instead? Instead everyone kept telling him to  _ meditate _ . To "clear his mind". How the hell was he supposed to do that? It sounded fake. Just have an empty mind with no thoughts in it? No way. He couldn't just  _ not _ have  _ any  _ thoughts on account of not being a stupid idiot. Shutting off your entire brain was  _ definitely _ a stupid idiot thing to do.

Livid, he scrubbed the plate in his hands even harder. A little too hard, the soapy dish slipping out of his hands and hitting the floor with an incriminating crash, shattering into pieces.

Omi shot up from across the room the instant it did, abandoning whatever scroll he'd been studying- probably something stupid written in the thirteen-hundreds about how they never should've invented the wheel because now people don't walk everywhere and that's lazy or something-

"Jack," Omi crossed his arms, looking up at Jack in what he immediately recognized as the condescending disapproval one would use to discourage a toddler. It made him feel sick. "I understand that you do not yet grasp the purpose of physical labor and the importance of self-discipline, but that does not mean you can simply break our dishes to get out of cleaning them!"

That was it. That. Was. It. Jack's hands shook, his face burned, he wasn't going to cry he wasn't going to cry he was  _ not _ going to cry. 

"Well EXCUSE me little Mr. PERFECT." He spat the words out with every ounce of venom he could manage in his current state of exhaustion. "Just because you're 'self-disciplined' enough to have never dropped or broken anything in your LIFE doesn't mean everybody else messes everything up on purpose." He was not going to cry. Just because his voice cracked it didn't mean he was going to cry. "I don't know  _ why  _ I thought this would be any better than boarding school because I'd probably be doing the exact same shit there since  _ apparently _ being a good person revolves around doing useless things you don't want to do in the most tedious way possible and then patting yourself on the back for not complaining!" Just because every muscle in his body ached and he missed his mother and his house and feeling like he was capable of doing  _ anything _ right didn't mean he was going to cry. "It's not my fault being 'good' is the most hardest most boringest thing anyone has ever done- nobody _ told _ me that y'know!" Just because every failure at doing "good things" was stuck under a microscope and picked apart infinitely more than any failure at doing "bad things" ever had been did  _ not _ mean he was going to cry. 

Omi looked at him like he'd just said the sun wasn't real or that he was secretly millions of ants in a human suit. Was that possible? Were there people out there just stuffed chock full of ants? What if there  _ were  _ ant people? Imagine the evil potential-

This train of thought screeched to a shot when Omi spoke.

"I… do not understand? Being good is not difficult Jack, self-discipline only takes a bit of patience to learn. It has always been simple for me."

Unbelievable.  _ Unbelievable _ . Jack honestly thought he might throw up. Crescents pressed into his palms from how tightly he squeezed his shaking hands into fists, but when he spoke he wasn't yelling anymore. If anything, his next words were uncharacteristically quiet.

"Well you know what, chrome-dome? Maybe you should get it through your thick head that I'm  _ Not  _ you." 

He turned before Omi could say anything else, took two steps towards the kitchen door, and  _ ran _ . Just like he did from home, just like he did from Chase's, just like he wanted to do from this stupid temple. His vision blurred, he said he wouldn't do this, he  _ promised _ himself he wouldn't do this, which was, in retrospect, completely pointless considering he'd never kept a promise to anyone in his life. 

Vaguely, he knew he wouldn't make it all the way out of the temple, he knew he was outnumbered and that his legs burned too much from the past few days to keep running. So he did the next best thing, throwing himself into the first room he found and slamming the door shut behind him. He thanked whatever minimal luck he had that he'd found his way into a bathroom, and he all too eagerly slid the lock shut. Maybe he could just stay in there forever and live off of eating toothpaste and never get another cavity and also never get his ass kicked for trying to run, which he was unquestionably sure is what would happen if he were to get caught. He'd finally given everyone the excuse he knew they'd been waiting for, hadn't he? Maybe now they'd at least be happy about  _ something  _ he did. He sank to the floor against the opposite wall, pulling his knees to his chest and telling himself that- no matter how much his eyes burned or his breath hitched, he wasn't crying. He was  _ not _ going to cry.


	6. Also, please don't break my bathroom door.

"Can't we just drag him out of there and get it over with?" Kimiko let out a quiet huff, leaning hard against the wall with a light  _ thump _ , "This is a serious step down from trying to steal our wu, even for Spicer."

Clay nodded from where he stood opposite her in the hallway, then turned to look at Omi, crouched next to the door. "Omi, I think it's real admirable what all you're tryin’ to do for him, but this is gettin’ downright ridiculous. Unless he's been eatin my Aunty Ida's 75 alarm chili dogs then there ain't  _ no  _ reason for anybody to be in a bathroom that long."

Kimiko shuddered in response. " _ Way _ too much information."

"Well it ain't wrong," Clay crossed his arms, "'sides, I got a mud mask waitin on me in there."

Kimiko and Omi bother looked at him, blinking in slight confusion.

"What?" Clay stood up a little straighter, "Cowboys can't make any time for skincare?"

Neither of them had a response, only shaking their heads and quietly agreeing that no, there was no reason to forego skincare. 

Returning his attention to the door, Omi continued his attempts to talk Jack out of the room, which, Jack had to admit,  _ almost _ made him want to open the door  _ just _ so Omi would stop talking.

"Jack," Unfortunately, he was still talking, "I did not  _ mean _ to insult your inability to perform the simple tasks involved in achieving moral redemption, I simply forgot that most easy things are actually very very hard for you!"

Usually tuning out anyone he didn't want to listen to was easy, but after knocking over his third attempt at stacking every soap bottle he could get his hands on, it was getting harder and harder for Jack to _ not _ hear everything drifting through the door. He wanted something to break, something to take apart and put together better,  _ anything _ to stop having to listen. He tried reading the soap bottle ingredient lists but the type was so small it made his head throb. Most letters already look too much alike, how was anyone supposed to know what was in their shampoo if every letter was small enough to be completely ambiguous? 

Out in the hall, Omi had finally decided to change tactics. "Very well, Jack Spicer," he stood, taking a few steps back from the door as he spoke his warning, "if  _ you _ are not coming out, then  _ we  _ are coming in! I suggest you step away from the door."

Positioning himself to kick in the door, he was stopped by a hand gently taking him by the shoulder.

"Sometimes, Omi, the only way to deal with the most impatient of students, is to become the most patient of teachers." Master Fung had approached in absolute silence, otherwise Omi surely would've heard him over his own loud one-sided conversation with the bathroom. His mentor continued with a sigh, "Also, please don't break down doors inside the temple, I believe we've had this conversation."

Omi lowered his head, remembering the fact that they had  _ absolutely _ had this conversation. Multiple times. "But Master Fung," he persisted, a little more quietly than before, "It has been  _ four hours _ ! How much patience do we  _ need?" _

"He's right." The sharp statement came from the entrance of the hallway, Raimundo leaning against one wall and walking his feet up the wall opposite, doing his best to seem bored, but refusing to look at any of his friends down the hall. "We've been patient enough, if Spicer doesn't want to be here then he doesn't want to be here, it's not our job to wait around and hope he decides he does." 

The spark of joy Omi had gotten from his two favorite words, "he's right," fizzled out. That wasn't what he'd meant at all! He opened his mouth to protest, but Raimundo cut him off before he could so much as make a sound.

"Look. You can't just  _ make  _ someone good who doesn't even  _ want  _ to be good Omi. It doesn't work that way."

"But.. but.." Omi frowned, what if he had a point, what if Jack didn't even  _ want _ to be good? He didn't like the idea, and disliked the idea of  _ giving up _ even more, but he had to admit, he was tired of trying to talk to Jack through a locked door without so much as a word in return. He heaved a sigh, face falling into a disappointed frown. "I suppose… You have a point. Perhaps you can lead a cow to the river, but you can not drown the cow…"

Muffled, from the opposite side of the door, came the first response anyone had gotten in the past four hours. "You were going to  _ DROWN  _ me??? How sick  _ are  _ you people!?"

Within the sanctuary of the bathroom, Jack clamped a hand over his mouth, mentally kicking himself for giving in to whatever twisted mind games they were using to try and make him talk. They were clever with their threats, sure, but they wouldn't be getting to him so easily again.

Back on the other side of the thin walls, Master Fung shook his head with a quiet exhale. "Raimundo," he spoke, turning to look at him, "I trust I can leave you to tell them what we discussed?"

Raimundo didn't look up from his concentrated practice of walking his way further up the wall, "Yeah yeah, don't worry about it, I got it from here." 

Master Fung briefly raised an eyebrow, but nodded all the same, and without another word he stepped out of the hall, seeming to disappear once he turned the first corner.

"Rai, what was he talking about? What are you telling us you discussed?" Kimiko pushed herself away from the wall, shooting Raimundo a curious look. 

"A plan," he answered, noncommittally, "You guys are gonna leave. I'm gonna talk to him without throwing insults in- well, as few insults as possible but he does make it way too easy- and he's either gonna answer or he's not." 

" _ You're _ ? Gonna talk to him?" Her confusion was audible, "You're gonna talk Spicer-  _ Jack Spicer _ \- into a  _ rational conversation _ ?"

"I hate to say it, partner, but Kimiko has a point," Clay chimed in, nodding slowly in agreement, "You got plenty of strengths, but playin’ good-cop to get Spicer talkin’ sure don't sound like one of 'em." 

Instead of answering, Raimundo pushed himself away from both sides of the wall at once, propelling upwards before coming to land beside the group. "Like I said, if Spicer doesn't  _ want _ to be good, we can't  _ make  _ him want to be good. But I need you guys to trust me when I say I've got a plan. Ok?" 

Clay was the first to nod, clapping Raimundo on the shoulder. "I dunno what all you've got planned Rai, but if you say you know what your doin’ then- well then, I trust you know what you’re doin’." And with that, he moved to leave.

Kimiko followed close behind, punching him lightly on the shoulder as she passed. "Knock 'em dead, Rai." 

She offered a smile, "no, seriously. Knock him dead if you have to."

Raimundo didn't bother to stifle a short laugh as she left, stopping only when he felt a gentle tug on his pant leg. Omi stared up at him, his expression serious and bordering on concern.

“You are our Leader, Raimundo," He spoke quietly, eyes narrowing slightly in determination, "And I trust your decision making, but even I could not get him to answer. I only hope that you know what you are doing.” 

He didn't offer Raimundo a chance to respond before he followed Clay and Kimiko, leaving his friend alone in front of the once again silent locked room.

"Yeah," He practically whispered, more to himself than to Omi's retreating form, "Yeah, me too…"


End file.
